


Redemption Equals Life

by Saelmeril



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Gen, Gender or Sex Swap, New Zealand, Post-Canon, Redemption, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saelmeril/pseuds/Saelmeril
Summary: Millennia after the destruction of the One Ring Sauron's spirit longs for incarnation. Incapable of creating a guise of his own, he decides to possess a body of a deceased mortal. But something goes wrong.





	Redemption Equals Life

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Искупление жизнью](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/437494) by hinewai. 



> AU where Arda = Earth in the past. A sliiightly modified translation of my own work. I've always had this dream of giving (more or less) canonic Mairon a chance to atone for his past.

The greatest of the Ainur had withdrawn from Arda. Some inferior spirits still dwelt in waterfalls, springs, rocks and forests, but they seldom exercised their will and paid no more attention to Mairon than to any other phantom of the Unseen.

If only that day they had returned him to the Timeless Halls or banished him to the Void, like his Master! But Ilúvatar had shut even the Gates of Night before him. Too weak to create a new body, the King who had holden millions of fates in his hands, the God who had been worshipped on thousands of golden altars, crawled among the shadows and observed the changing world. 

For centuries anger and hatred had blinded him. Then they blunted, and darkness swallowed him. But eventually even it dissipated. 

It happened all of a sudden. Mairon found himself in a thicket of tall ferns on the edge of a mountain crevice. A brook sprang out of it. Its waters were so clear that nothing but the silvery bodies of trouts basking in it made them noticeable. The brook flowed into a turbulent river paving its way through the pebbles in a braid of intertwining streams.

Mairon came out to its middle. No pain, hatred or regret were left—only the snow, the mountains and the blinding radiance of the sun.

But the water still flowed through him.

Since his downfall, mainlands had changed their contours, new peoples and languages had emerged and the old ones had lapsed into oblivion. The Elves remained but in songs. Men were the new masters of Arda.

Mairon craved embodiment. He longed to feel the power of the torrent, to sense the pebbles under his feet, to inhale the clear air. He had no strength to construct even a frail and hideous guise, and he knew he would not regain it even if he had possessed all the time in Ëa.

Nevertheless, he could still take hold of a regular human body recently deserted by the soul.

Humans departed every day, but choosing a suitable host was a challenge. Female corpses got rejected straight away. Although disembodied spirits were sexless, Mairon was used to refer to himself in masculine and had always embodied himself as a male (he sighed, remembering the pleasure maleness brought him). Besides, most societies considered women inferior, and Mairon would not waste time overcoming barriers he could bypass.

The most important question was whether to reincarnate as a child or an adult. An adult would not have to play clueless and tolerate condescendence for years. However, complications would arise when it came to dealing with his past acquaintances, as well as accounting for memory losses and personality changes.

Mairon decided to begin as a child. This would give him more leverage even if his ‘parents’ chose a life path for him. As long as he had a source of income, he did not care the least about losing approval. And waiting for another decade meant nothing for someone older than time.

At last, the fallen Maia found what he sought.

The boy was born to a high-standing official in one of the most advanced civilisations of the time (this island state distantly reminded Mairon of Númenor, and for a good reason; a volcanic eruption would destroy it twelves years later). At the age of two he fell off a sea cliff. His parents were just running towards the shore and crying his name when Mairon examined the corpse slowly vanishing in the depth.

However, the pleasant surprise did not happen. When Mairon was just about to claim the body, an enormous shark engulfed it and swam right through him. After its tail had swivelled before his eyes, he saw the Sea-Lady.

‘Uínen?’ he exclaimed. ‘What in Arda—’

‘Father sent me to talk to you,’ the other Maia replied. Her semi-transparent silhouette gleamed in the dim sun rays and the end of her gown disappeared in the black abyss. Unlike Mairon, she had retained her primaeval power.

‘Why you?’

‘I am one of the few who stayed, and once I have already brought a lost spirit back to light. Come up, we shall converse on the surface.’ 

Mairon sat on the edge of the cliff and Uínen halfway emerged from the sea and settled on an underwater stone, assuming a human-like appearance. 

‘Father will let you recover a body,’ she spoke without moving her lips. ‘But first tell me: how will you exploit it?’

‘I wanted to let it mature, study my surroundings, gain influence and use it to make the world better,’ Mairon examined Uinen’s coral necklace, avoiding to look her into the eyes. ‘But I realised that I had already tried to pursue this path, and here’s where it led me. I don't know.'

'Then speak frankly.'

'I want to live,' Mairon confessed. 'To feel. The absence of sensations is the direst torment, and I am not talking about "carnal pleasures". I mean _any_ sensations. I know the pain I have inflicted upon Arda is unforgivable but I want to try over. Punish me however you like if I steer from my intentions and become my old self.' 

Uínen smiled. The touch of her mind felt like the surf, gentle or mighty.

‘Then you must subdue your pride and put your trust in Father. He will choose a body for you to dwell in. I feel sorry for this boy’s family but we are in no position to meddle with Eru’s plan for them... and for yourself. You will be reborn as a human and will live a human life, and your deeds will determine your fate. You can gain forgiveness. But should you violate our trust or force your life to an end prematurely, you will be reduced to an even feebler shadow and return to skulking in the Unseen.

Mairon suspected that his decision would draw attention but did not expect higher powers to intervene directly. However, he had already missed one chance to repent and understood that he will not be granted another one.

‘I accept your conditions,’ he said.

‘Iluvatar has heard you,’ Uínen slid into the water. ‘Human souls will come back too, stripped of all memories; you will recognise them, but they will not recognise you. Ossë and I will be there for you, always. Are you confident in your decision?’

‘Yes,’ the fallen Maia repeated. So began his long journey of reincarnations.

  
  


***

Mairon held his word and did not repeat his old mistakes. He was a teacher in times of obscurantism and burned on a pyre for the truths he stood for; a merchant who sacrificed his fortune to infirmaries and orphanages; an incorruptible judge who paid for candour with his head. Every time he learned with the mortals and shared his knowledge with their greatest minds. He governed cities and provinces, healed like none of his contemporaries could and grew stronger with every death.

But even after twenty-nine lives he could not clothe himself in flesh. Even a thousand would not suffice for this.

Occasionally Mairon encountered descendants of Elves. He could not always distinguish them at first glance. However, they have always turned out to be somewhat fairer, somewhat more capable, wise and humane than their peers, often to their own peril.

***

Water flooded the hold of the battleship. Explosion sounds and the hum of fighter planes were still audible from above, and the lieutenant kept struggling for his life in spite of knowing that he would not make it. At least he had done all he could and had given his comrades a chance. 

Another torpedo crashed into the hull right in front of him and thrust him back.

Uínen came every time water took his life. Mairon saw her and realised he was doomed.

‘Where did the mortals get it from?’ he questioned her. He had minutes left till the end. ‘Iluvatar could not have created them like this. And with all our lust for power and destruction, neither Melkor nor I have ever conceived devices so heinous and ideas so dreadful.’

Uínen took the wounded lieutenant in her arms.

‘Who knows what you could have accomplished had you possessed their resources. Have you not eliminated dissenters or sought to dominate the world single-handedly? Have you now understood what it is like to be persecuted?’

Mairon pointed at the number on his wrist and died.

Liberated from the constraints of flesh, his spirit slipped out through the metal wall. He and Uínen were left alone underwater, where the fading shimmer of the spotlights of the drowning destroyer blended with the glares of the fire raging on the surface.

‘Did anything good happen to you in this life at all?’

‘A lot of good, actually. For instance, in 1916 I encountered a certain talented Brit... Soon the whole world will hear about us.’

‘Just on time. Dagor Dagorath is nigh.’

Mairon twitched.

‘Is it? With all due respect, I doubt that Melkor will ever surpass _this_. But how much time do we have?’

‘You have one human life.’

‘Just one?’

‘Yes, but it shall be special. Father will allow you to live it to your pleasure and become whatever you want. You can as well reject the offer and retreat to the Timeless Halls.’

Mairon laughed, ‘Their dwellers will not welcome me. Besides, I have lived with the mortals since the very first sunrise. Whatever I used to think of them, now only memories set us apart. And wouldn’t you want to read a book about yourself? I would love the chance, even if I’m portrayed as a complete cunt.’ 

‘So who do you want to become?’

‘Who I was designed to become. A craftsman.’ 

***

There was a whale in Wellington harbour. 

In many capitals such news would never have made it twice to the title pages, but here it was the highlight of the fortnight. Undaunted by the storm, people armed with binoculars gathered on quays and hills to observe the majestic cetacean.

Joy stopped her bike and, hanging a narrow box, two-thirds of her height in length, over her shoulder, proceeded to the edge of the dock.

Over the last few days the world had consisted of shades of blue. The wind bent trees and upheaved the waters of the Cook straight, mixing the sea spray with the rain. Joy had moved here only two years ago and had not yet grown used to this weather; it still excited her every time. Unlike the other onlookers, she did not hide under a raincoat, and even her jacket was inadequately thin for such conditions. As a true Englishwoman, she neglected layers. However, her ethnicity could not explain how dauntlessly she approached the flooded end of the pier.

Uínen showed in the waves.

‘Good day, brother.’ 

‘I knew I'd find you here,’ the girl smiled.

Osanwë required no grammar, and therefore no gender designation. Ambiguities arose in the conversation of the two Maiar only in attempts to translate it into some human languages.

‘Of course I'm here. I must ensure that this baby doesn’t injure or beach himself.’

Judging by the weather, Ossë is raging nearby together with some servants of Manwë, Mairon thought. For some reason these two islands at the end of the world drew the inhabitants of old Arda like no other place. Perhaps because there its pristine image was best preserved. There were even rumours that it was New Zealand where humans had last seen Elves; the Maori called them _Patupaiarehe_ , the ‘pale untatooed people’. Many reincarnated Edain gravitated here too. 

‘I will not ask what for did they seal me into a female body,’ Mairon continued. ‘But why did it have to be myopic?’ the girl pointed at her purple glasses, standing out on the contrast with her black jacket and short dark hair. ‘And why did you have to deprive me of memories for eighteen years? Tell me, Uínen.’ 

‘What do you think?’

‘I ruined my eyesight myself; no more Lidless Eye for me. And the purpose of oblivion was to make me understand what it is actually like to be human. Well, it sucks. They could’ve at least spared me from this monthly torment—’ 

‘You better not complain,’ Uínen interrupted Mairon. ‘Remember your previous lives. In this one, you've had everything you dreamed of, and we have always protected you. You knew we have, even though you couldn’t explain it and thought you were just lucky. You used to hate water in the old days, and now you took such delight in swimming. Because of my efforts you’ve never got stung by a jellyfish.’

‘Are you sure?’ Joy lifted her trousers and exposed a clear-shaped scar on her shin.

Uínen examined it.

‘Oh… Sorry. It must have been Ossë.’

However, the rest of Uínen’s words were true. Joy was born to a well-off British family, excelled in her studies and graduated from a renowned boarding school. Her only misfortune was being born at the end of June. She regained her memories in the noon of her coming of age, which inauspiciously coincided with the heat of a Chemistry exam. Seated amidst hundreds of classmates in the deafening silence of a tennis court, Joy grabbed her head. She remembered perfectly the creation of the world but had no clue whatsoever why bimolecular nucleophilic substitution was favoured by aprotic solvents.

A B in Chemistry prevented Joy from reading civil engineering at Cambridge. However, her long-forgotten old personality gave her the strength to withstand her family’s disappointment and take advantage of her innate skills. Joy reapplied to university and used her gap year to complete a portfolio. The following summer she signed a contract with a world-famous workshop based in Wellington, New Zealand. She was only glad to move thirty hours of flight away from her old social circle.

‘What are you carrying?’ Uínen wondered.

‘Narsil. A copy of exquisite quality; decided to deliver it in person.’

‘Curious about the identity of the commissioner?’ 

Joy nodded.

The workshop specialised on weapons, armour, jewellery and many other articles. Some of them were used as film and theatre props, others went to private commissioners. Although an all-rounded handywoman, Joy established herself as a historic weapon expert. Her colleagues admired how such a slight (yet fairly athletic) girl managed to forge swords single-handedly. However, reviving the Narsil took her a lot of effort, but not for the reason everyone had suspected. The memories of the blade that had once disembodied her weighed more than the heaviest hammer she had handled.

‘Do you think it could be?—’

‘That's what I'm afraid of.’

Uínen sighed.

‘I wish I could thank him. And I wish you could apologize.’

  
  


Joy pressed on the doorbell button. Waiting at the porch, she wiped the raindrops from her glasses. The storm raged on.

Apprehension welled up in her at the first sound of voices from the inside. When the host came out to meet her, she realised why. He had cut his hair, lived under an Anglo-Saxon name and did not remember his Quenya one, and yet there was no doubt: he was Elendil. To Joy’s delight, no more than six feet and seven inches were left from his previous seven feet eleven. Humans had lost in height over the past few eras.

His wife appeared next to him—the one he had had back in Númenor. Death parted them not.

Joy was speechless. Before she had met a reincarnation retaining its initial appearance only once—when Iluvatar had revived the beauty of Lúthien. Mairon recognised her on a photograph shown by Beren. That Englishman he encountered during the war. When else would they return but in the darkest time that had ever befallen Arda.

‘You’re just on time,’ Elendil smiled. ‘Don’t stand in the rain, come inside. May I offer you tea or coffee—’

The tempest could not intimidate Joy; she would rather return to the typical Wellington weather than to the home of her ancient enemies. But her curiosity prevailed.

The living room was full of flowers and presents. Mrs Elendil explained that their oldest son was turning twenty-five (Númenórean coming of age, Joy recalled). He worked as a marine engineer in Auckland but decided to visit his parents and little brother on this special occasion.

Joy glanced around the room. She stopped to examine the photographs standing in frames above the fireplace and nearly dropped her coffee. Reborn spouses often found each other anew, but several generations of an entire family reincarnating simultaneously, and remaining so similar to their previous selves! Amandil with his wife, Elendil, Isildur, Anárion…

Mairon downed the burning espresso. A truly remarkable family, he thought, grinding his teeth.

Elendil tore the box open and jokingly swayed the sword wrapped in several layers of protective film. Then he summoned his children. Anárion, as cheerful and bubbly as he used to be, rushed down the staircase, and the birthday boy followed.

Joy recoiled when Isildur unsheathed Narsil.

***

‘Aren't you cold, miss? You might get sick.’

A tall man approached Joy from behind and put his coat on her shoulders.

Twenty-seven (millions) years of age, she came out to the deserted quay to ‘have a chat with the sea’ not only by force of habit. She intended to tell Ossë that she would be highly disappointed if her flight got cancelled because of his mischief. Young Kiwi masters do not get prestigious job offers from world-famous French jewellery houses every day, let alone with a fully funded ticket to Paris.

‘Cold hasn't been lethal for decades,’ she replied and then realised how weird it sounded. She took the coat off and passed it back to the stranger. ‘I won’t freeze. Take care of yourself.’ 

The man moved her stretched hand back. Then Joy hurled the coat on the railing and strode away.

‘Hold on! Are you Miss Steiner?’ he called her.

‘I am indeed. What do you want?’

‘As your oldest and most loyal fan, I would like to express my admiration with your skill and discuss another commission. Preferably over a cup of coffee… on the Champs Élysées. But your place will do too.’

Joy raised her hand for a slap but stopped halfway. And then she hit the man with all her strength; in his cheek, then his chin, then his groin.

The stranger bent over.

‘Hey, why?’

'Overwhelmed with feelings,' the Maia smiled. 'Was time in the dimensions you roamed too slow or were you too busy conquering them to update your strategy of seducing talented smiths?'

  
  



End file.
